


Cat Person

by WandererRiha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Turks - Freeform, nice kitty, old pals in the army, retired badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turks stick together. In which a former Turk and a certain fortune teller form an unlikely friendship. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Person

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Surskitty for the plotbunny.  
> Kitten?  
> Something.

06/29/2016  
Cat Person

 

“So?” Reeve asked, turning to look over his shoulder. Behind him, Tseng stared intently at the monitor. The grainy picture wasn’t the best quality, and gave a rather foreshortened view of a tall man wearing a long, red cloak. It had taken some digging, but once a Turk, always a Turk. “Does Protocol 51 still stand?”

Tseng did not answer right away. Agent Valentine had vanished before their time; missing in action, presumed dead. Apparently he wasn’t as dead as they’d been led to believe.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive,” the head of the Turks murmured. The face on the monitor was eerily similar to the one in the old company directory. The hair was longer, the face leaner, but still the same. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m volunteering,” Reeve said, twisting in his seat so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck. “He’s one of us. Can’t leave him to flounder on his own like that.”

“No,” Tseng agreed. “We can’t.”

 

\--

 

Ordinarily, no one was brave enough to venture more than an inch or two into Vincent’s personal space- and he required a wider cushion than most. Usually the deep sense of the uncanny that he wore like his red cloak was enough to warn the casual observer, but the rest of the team had gotten to know him better. He and Cid would smoke and trade Shinra stories, Barrett could talk to him about guns, and he was the only person who could tell Yuffie to act her age and have her listen. Sometimes he and Nanaki would have “do you remember?” conversations, but they were a bit one-sided. The firecat’s memories were those of a child, and limited to his home in Cosmo Canyon. Tifa kept trying to feed him any of the leftover food they made before Cid and Barrett could finish it off, insisting he was far too thin. Although she could handle herself, he took to hovering near her like an exceptionally lanky shadow whenever they were in town. The number of catcalls she received dropped significantly. Cloud had a lot of questions he would have liked to ask, but usually wound up helping Vincent brood in companionable silence. Which left Cait Sith.

Reeve got the feeling Valentine mistrusted the toy. Perhaps it was training, or maybe instinct, but the former Turk seemed to inherently _know_ that something was up. Although Vincent never said anything, Reeve caught him watching the puppet with narrowed red eyes. Clearly, he smelled a rat- or rather, a mole.

The two of them often stood sentry. Cait Sith had a censor that would alert everyone- including Reeve- to danger, and Vincent insisted he didn’t need to sleep. Considering Yuffie was still convinced Vincent was a vampire, Reeve marveled that they let him watch them while they slept. Maybe he was afraid one of them would stake _him_ in the heart if ever he closed his eyes? Either way, Reeve had offered and Tseng had agreed. Turks stuck together, and it only made sense that a couple of benched old-timers such as themselves look out for each other. It was Protocol.

In the beginning there had been only fifty Turks and their director. Although they had been the SOLDIERs of their time, Shinra had allowed them to operate largely independently. They had not been provided for the way the military was now, indeed, the Turks were still left to fend mostly for themselves. Because of that, all of them held a fierce loyalty toward one another. If one of them was wounded- physically or otherwise- it was up the the rest to make sure they recovered. It was because of Protocol 51 that the Turks could boast a lower suicide rate than the infantry or SOLDIER. Turks might not retire, but few of them showed themselves the door.

Watching Valentine smoke cigarettes borrowed from Cid, Reeve tried to think how to approach this. He knew nothing about Valentine except what was in his corporate file- not much- and second-hand stories Tseng and Scarlet had told him. Except that was information concerning the person he had been. Who he was now, Reeve could only guess.

Taking up the controller, he piloted Cait Sith down off of Mog and across the scrub grass to where Valentine stood, eyes and cigarette glowing in the darkness. Although the puppet was built to be bipedal and had hands, not forepaws, Reeve decided to step out of character slightly. His only friend as a child had been a stray cat he’d dubbed “Socks”. It had been the best day of his young life when at last she had approached him and rubbed against his legs. Dropping the puppet to all fours, he directed it over to Valentine and nudged the crowned head against his ankles.

Valentine blinked and looked down. The robot wasn’t really built for this, but fiddling with a couple of the axis controls allowed him a less awkward configuration. With the settings adjusted, Cait Sith could move more like a real cat. Pushing a few buttons, Reeve cued up some big sad eyes and a waving tail. Something that might have been distantly related to a smile pulled at Valentine’s lips and he crouched down. Reaching, he scratched behind the synthetic ears. Reeve did his best to produce a purr, but got the feeling Valentine wasn’t convinced.

“Pulling my strings now?” he said softly, his deep voice low and gravely. “I know you’re a fake, but it’s instinct, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Cait Sith replied, the accent dialed down considerably. It seemed unfair to con a fellow in arms.

“You’re the cat who walks by himself,” Valentine went on, folding his long legs under him to sit on the ground. “What do you want from me?”

It wasn’t easy to get the robot over his crossed ankles and into Valentine’s lap, but Reeve managed it. “The same thing every cat wants,” Cait Sith said as Reeve tried and succeeded in an arch-backed stretch. “Your undivided attention but only when I want it.”

Valentine smirked and stubbed the cigarette out on the hard earth. Reeve hadn’t thought he would actually go for this, but it wasn’t long before the older man’s fingers were stroking the soft, synthetic fur.

“You’re a toy,” Valentine went on, but the roughness of his voice had softened somewhat, “a robot. What have you promised your master in order to wear those fine boots, puss?”

Angling the controller, Reeve managed to nudge Valentine’s hand with Cait Sith’s muzzle, leaning into his touch as if he wanted to be petted more. Valentine automatically obliged.

“To stick by you, mate, so you know you’re not alone.” A pause in which Reeve briefly calculated a monumental risk. “It’s protocol.”

Valentine froze, his fingers seizing into a claw. Reeve held his breath, watching too many emotions flash past behind the glowing red eyes. His entire body had gone rigid, except for his chest which heaved rapid and too-deep breaths. It took Reeve a moment to realize Valentine was having a flashback, or at the very least, an anxiety attack.

“Hey,” he said, dropping the accent entirely, and pulling the puppet up to stand on its hind legs, its paws against Valentine’s chest. “Take it easy. Slow breaths.”

Pushing the levers back and forth, he guided the gloved paws to knead Valentine’s chest the way Socks used to do to him every morning. The touch seemed to startle him out of his waking nightmare and he looked down at the robot, his normally pale face ashen.

“We’re in this together,” Reeve told him. “Yes, I’m here to watch, but I’m also here to watch out _for_ you.”

Valentine studied the comic, furry little face as if he were looking through the camera eyes into Reeve’s. Behind the high collar of the cloak, he thought he saw the older man swallow hard.

“Do you trust me?” Reeve asked.

In answer, Valentine scooped up the cat and hugged him close, hiding his face in the plush fur.

“No,” he said, his tone suggesting otherwise.

Smiling like an idiot, Reeve purred. This time, he was much more convincing.


End file.
